Five Instances
by Book Light
Summary: A Painter, a baker. Someone who does not take sugar in his tea, who likes to sleep with the windows open and double knots his shoelaces. Here's a series of oneshots to show how Katniss came to know such things about the boy with the bread. *On Hiatus*
1. A Painter

**A/N: "You're a painter. You're a baker. You like to sleep with the windows open. You never take sugar in your tea. And you always double-knot your shoelaces."**

**Have you ever wondered when Katniss found out these things? Well, here you go! Starting off with something we all knew since Catching Fire.**

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_"You know - one loves the sunset, when one is so sad..."__ – Little Prince_

The once pure white canvas is now splashed with an angry red. The brush is savagely dipped in the red paint and splattered on the canvas. He hastily repeats this routine until the paint covers most of the white space. Late afternoon lights peers in through the window next to him. And I, sitting on the high stool in the kitchen, just watch through the open door. I don't dare disturb him. I just silently watch him lose himself in his own world.

Had I not been watching for a time, I would have thought he was moving without purpose. But now, I see the pattern in his rough movements. He's drawing a rough sketch of something.

His arm moves raggedly, the muscles in it straining to keep up. Sweat forms on his forehead, neck and hands but not one drop touches his canvas. He slashes his brush from the upper left to its parallel side and runs back up again. Though strenuous and barbaric his actions may seem, the tip of the brush always touches the white space with wariness.

The expression on his face reads pained and sorrowful.

I follow his "dance" with my eyes wishing I could come up to him and hold him close but I can't; I won't.

His painting sessions, I have come to believe, is his relief and release of all his grief- grief due to his lifestyle of getting what others don't want, his abuse-filled childhood, the traumatizing games and I know even when he won't admit it that a large part of that grief is because of me.

I breathe out a sigh and realize too late that it was too loud. He hears it, turns and looks at me in surprise.

"Katniss," he starts, "have you been sitting there all this time?" His face smoothes out into a smile, no trace of the tormented man in sight. He grabs a rag from the floor and rubs his hands in it trying to erase the paint that had gotten to it. This proves futile.

They look like bloodied hands.

I shudder and look away.

He notices this and looks down on his own hands. From the look on his face, he has seen what I had seen. "Sorry", he murmurs similar to a guilty man's apology. He digs his hands in his pockets and comes closer. "Did you need anything? Some bread maybe?"

I look up into his blue eyes. The corners of his eyes are crinkling like it does when a person smiles. But his eyes alone, tell a different story- a story of shame, remorse and sadness. Feelings which I feel are reflected in my own eyes.

My chest tightens and I grip the side of the stool before I jump out of it. "My mother was asking if you had anymore apple pie. It seems she's taken a liking to them." I try to sound upbeat but my voice comes out breathy.

"I think I have some left." he says and scurries over to his fridge. He gives me a glance before carefully bringing out his hands and opening the door of the fridge. He walks toward me briskly. The pie drops on the counter before he hides his hands again.

I sigh once more. "Let me see them." I say in a voice that implies he cannot refuse.

Reluctantly, he does. He carefully takes them out of his pocket. He offers his clenched hands to me and I take them in my own. Slowly, he opens them.

My eyes rest on the scars on his hands covered in red paint. A shiver runs through me, passing it to him through his hands. He recoils and tries to take his hands back. Immediately, I snatch his wrists and tug them toward me. I give him a leveled gaze before I proceed to examining his hands.

My fingers trace the splatters of paint and eventually his scars. He flinches but it only makes me tighten my grip. My fingers seem small in contrast to his and yet both are equally calloused. Who would have thought, that a town person could be as scarred as a Seam person. And I begin to think that Peeta may be an exception.

Red begins to blur my vision. I instantly cover his hands with mine. Subconsciously, I take a firm hold onto them and shut my eyes. For a few moments, silence hangs in the room.

"Katniss, Katniss," he whispers in a pleading tone that breaks the silence. I open my eyes to see his face looking so sad yet trying to be comforting. "Its okay." he whispers, "I'm okay."

A lump forms in my throat. I let go of his hands as if it would burn me. One thought rings in my head, 'He didn't deserve this. Peeta never deserved this. Someone so innocent and good shouldn't have been forced to kill. No one deserves this.'

I don't dare blink knowing that the tears would escape. I simply look away and my eyes find the red canvas. In the corner of my eyes, Peeta turn his head and follows my gaze.

"Would you like to try and paint?" He asks me gently.

"I've never painted before." I say weakly.

He walks into the room and says, "That's what I'm here for."

Dubiously, I follow him inside. He prepares some things while I look around the room. I see paintings on the wall that weren't visible through the open door. There's a painting of a mockingjay, of the town, of different flowers. Different paintings and yet all of them have the sunset as a background. One painting catches my eye.

A painting of katniss flower bathed in the glory of the setting sun.

Someone taps me on the shoulder and I turn toward it. A clean brush is thrusted in front of my face. "This is yours. Consider it a gift to get you started." Peeta says and I see a genuine smile plastered on his face. "Thank you" is all I say and feebly take the brush.

He directs me to the large canvas he worked on. Everything is red with some areas of white but when I look closer, there is a depth in the color. Each stroke of red can be identified on closer inspection but blends in when viewed from afar. It's actually pretty. And somehow depressing.

He hands me a can of paint and I peer inside. It's a bright yellow.

I flick a look to Peeta and he's staring at me. "Go on," he urges.

I dip the tip of the brush into the paint and position myself in front of the canvas. "Where should I start?"

"Anywhere you want" he says encouragingly.

I stare at the canvas, looking for a good spot to place a seed of yellow but I can't seem to find one. Or more accurately, I'm afraid I'll just mess up his masterpiece.

"Would you like some help?" he asks.

"Yes, please." I answer in a panicked voice.

He moves behind me and gently takes my hand in his and guides it toward the middle.

Irrationally, I flinch when the tip touches the canvas but Peeta continues. He takes my hand in a series of twirls and lines. I relax a little and lean into him.

We stay like that. Him, painting using my hand and I being limp in his.

I look up to his face and see calmness that certainly wasn't there before. His eyes taking on that look he has whenever he concentrates.

I didn't notice time passing until the light changes in the room and an actual sunset is displayed in the window beside the canvas. He pulls back and lets go of my hand.

"See? You're a natural at this Katniss." He grins.

Confused, I take a step back and see the entirety of the painting.

It's another sunset. But somehow it's different to the backgrounds of the other painting. It gives out feelings of serenity, wistfulness and of course, hope.

An angry red blends with a soft yellow.

And I begin to think orange is a really beautiful color.

_You're a painter._

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**A/N: It's been awhile since I posted a story It's not my fault! I blame the virus which invaded and corrupted my files. And then there were tons of assignment and periodical tests in school. Lastly, I had an writer's block.**

**But anyway, I hope you guys like this fic.**

**This is a little different from my other fanfics cuz it's a little more angsty and formal… well, it is in my opinion. But as usual, there's a bit of fluff.**

**This was inspired by the Little Prince (Look above).**

**Please review :3**

**On a random note: HUNTER PARRISH PLEASE BE PEETA IN THE MOVIE.**


	2. A Baker

Through the foggy glass of the bakery, I see a blonde man kneading a slob of dough on a big wooden table beside the display case. His hair bouncing off his forehead as rubs the dough with his palms. My breath further fogs the glass. With the sleeve of my jacket, I rub the fog off and try to make sure that it's him and not his brothers.

He dusts the table with flour and carefully rolls the dough. After, he divides the dough into eights and shapes them into simple circles. He brushes the top with a yellow mixture which I assume to be egg yolks. He loads the little balls in the tray and pushes it inside the oven.

When I notice the little limp in his gait, I know it's him.

I take one last look at the glass, and study my hazy reflection.

I'm expectedly wet.

Grey eyes stare back at me. My hair, out of its usual braid, crawls on my shoulders and back. My jacket hugs my figure. And of course, my body is shivering.

Suddenly, I am reminded of that day. A day of hunger, rags, and tossed bread.

I shake my head and force myself out of the flashback. I inhale deeply and immediately regret it as the cold invades my lungs. I grumble and curse the rain before I step inside.

_Clang!_

The bell rings as I push open the door. The air carrying the smell of flour, eggs and butter rushes towards me, racing outside towards the unforgiving rain. My body welcomes the warmth that radiates from the room. And I immediately remove my soaking wet jacket.

Big blue eyes look up to me and I wave my hand lamely. He gives me a small smile and I try to return his smile with a small effort to lift the side of my lips. Smiling and being friendly was never my strong point.

"Katniss," He begins. And there is no hiding the fondness in his voice. The way he says my name as if it's a privilege, even an honor. "Why are you drenched?"

"Because it's bright and sunny outside." I say grimly and he laughs at my sarcasm. He never seems to take offense in my sarcasm like other people would. It's so Peeta.

"Come on them. No reason to stand there and get our floor wet." He jokes and I actually feel my mood brighten.

He takes my jacket and hangs it on the coat rack beside the door which in retrospect, was stupid for me not to do in the first place. He leads me towards the ovens at the back and tries to get me as close as possible without burning my skin. I sigh in relief and try to let the heat get into every part of my body by twisting and turning every so often.

"Katniss, have some tea. It's jasmine." He says and hands me a cup. I gratefully take it and in three gulps, it's empty.

"Thank you," I say and I hand it back to him. He places it on the table and turns back to me.

"Geez, Katniss, you're rich and you can't buy an umbrella." He shakes his head and even presses a finger to his temple for a dramatic effect.

"I have money and I still hunt." I say and suppress the urge to wag a finger to his face.

"Hunting is practical. Not getting an umbrella is impractical." He says matching my gloating tone.

I pout my lips and cross my arms. "Do you have to rain on my parade?"

"I think the rain outside beat me to it." He tilts his head and beams at me, knowing he has won our little game of wit.

I snort and look at him ruefully. He looks back but I notice his gaze wander from my hair and down to my feet. He fakes a cough and asks, "Not that I don't want you here or anything but what made you come here?"

"I- " I begin and remember why I did come. My face flushes a little and think myself stupid for getting embarrassed "…The cheese buns you brought wasn't… enough today."

He raises an eyebrow in a way that reads as confused. "But that's the same number of cheese buns I bring everyday."

I grumble a bit before I mutter, "I was hungry, okay?"

He chuckles and I turn my head away pretending to be angry.

"Well, that's reasonable indeed." He says and takes my hand. By now, I am dry enough not to leave a puddle every time I take a step.

He gently leads me in front of the display case and he scrambles behind the counter.

"Good afternoon, miss. What can I get you today?" He regards me brightly.

"Er, Peeta? What are you doing?"

"It's rare for you to come to the bakery. Might as well treat you as a customer. Just play along." He makes a pushing gesture with his hands.

"Uh-huh?" I say in understanding but not in total agreement. I've never been a "customer" for anything; only a trader.

"We have freshly baked apple and pear pie. Would you care for some?"

I straighten my back and speak like someone who knows what she is doing. "Actually, I came here for those cheesy buns."

"Ah, excellent choice madame. And how many are you going to take?" He asks me very professionally.

"Just give me five?" I say and my voice goes up a little at the end.

He takes a brown paper bag in his left hands and tongs in his right. He ducks to the level of the cheese buns and pick out five of the most golden colored buns.

"There you go miss. Five delectable cheese buns made my moi."

I mechanically hold out my hands and pushes the bag in my hands. My fingers tingle at the contact with the heat from the buns.

"Well, then I guess I should go." I say reluctantly. I rock on the balls of my feet and slowly take a step back.

"Wait." He leans forward "It's still raining cats and dogs outside. It would be wrong for me to let you go out in the pouring rain."

"Is that part of the script?" Frankly, I'm not so sure what's going on.

"I wasn't aware there was a script." He shrugs his shoulders and laughs.

"I can't just stay here. You're working and I'll just distract you." I say.

"What difference does it make? You always distract me whether I'm working or not." He says as if it was a fact.

I sigh in defeat and grab a chair from the corner. I drag it towards the wooden table and sit down on it. With my arms crossed, I lean on the table. "Happy?" I ask.

He simply smiles and says, "You know, I can always take a break and keep you entertained."

I am never one for idle chitchat. For a few seconds I stare at the dough that has been abandoned on the table. I look up to him and find his eager eyes on me.

"Why do you bake?" I ask.

"Well, why do you hunt?"

_Sure, answer my question with a question._

I ponder his question briefly. Why do I hunt? I imagine my life without hunting and I see nothing. Or more accurately, me staring at the ceiling from sunrise to sunset.

"Hunting is like a past time for me now. It's the only time I feel really alive and just be myself." I answer honestly.

He looks at me and then into the distance. "Baking reminds me of how I was before the games. It's nice to feel that I'm actually doing something."

I only nod in response because I do see what he means.

"And… I'm reminded that it's not only destruction that I can do. I can still create something that people will help people… live." He looks at his hands thoughtfully before digging it back to the dough.

Our chitchat stops there as each of us become lost in our own thoughts. _The preservation of life and not death._

Eventually, I rest my head in my arms and close my eyes. I feel myself drift off into a state of half-consciousness. I'm aware of everything around me and yet I can't find the energy to open my eyes. I hear the sounds of the working oven, the sound of kneading dough, the harsh pitter patter of rain and the smallest movements Peeta makes. A cold and eerie voice from upstairs rouses me.

"Peeta? Peeta!" The voice shouts.

My head swiftly snaps up to the direction of the voice and feel the sharp pain in my neck from the sudden stretch of the muscles in it. A thin but tall lady descends from the rickety old stairs.

"Peeta, are you done with the 12 batches I asked you to make? It's been an hour already, you lazy bum. I-" She stops her rambling as she sees me. A gaunt and sharp face stares at me. Her blonde hair streaked with white is pulled into a tight bun.

It's Peeta's mother.

She studies me up and down and finally her lands on my eyes. The look she gives me is filled with loathing and bizarrely… respect?

"Katniss." Where as Peeta says my name like a caress of a baby, his mother's sounds like a hiss of a snake about the pounce on its prey.

She opens her mouth and I cringe involuntarily. This is the woman who beat a starving girl on the brink of death; the same woman who would hurt her own son. In my eyes, she has no mercy.

I brace myself from whatever cutting words she could possibly throw at me but I never get to hear them because at that moment, a crash is heard at the back. The three of us jump in surprise and look expectantly at the back door.

Fast as lightning, Peeta's mother, wearing a mask of cold fury, rushes towards the source of the crash and opens it ajar.

"You!" She points a bony finger at the person outside. "You filthy little rascal. How many times do I need to tell you not to paw through our trash with your grubby claws you call hands." She spats.

I stand on the tip of my toes and try to see who the victim of the witch is. When Peeta's mother sways to the side, I see a girl looking barely ten holding the hand of a boy that could be his brother.

"Do you want me to call on the peacekeepers?" She flashes her teeth forming a terrifying smile. "Thieves belong inside bars after all."

The siblings back up a little, no more than a yard. Two pairs of huge pleading and terrified grey eyes look at Peeta's mother. The girl's mouth quivers, trying to formulate a word or possibly she's just too cold. Her whole body shivers except for the hand that is gripping her little brother's hand.

A wave of nausea hits me. I feel myself being dragged back to the past, in the girl's shoes. I remember what it was like facing the witch's wrath; how frightening it felt. Strangely, I didn't see the face of the witch. I saw the face of my mother's and Prim's faces pale; dead. That's what scared me the most; what scares me until now.

I cannot move.

"What are you looking at? There's no food for you here. Go, shoo! Shoo!" Peeta's mother sweeps her hand into a wide arc.

But the girl doesn't move, seemingly as frozen as I but for different reasons. And when she doesn't, that's when Peeta's mother hits her. She falls into the concrete. Her brother flinches but otherwise pulls her sister up.

The welt on her face jumps in my vision and I snap into focus.

_Why do I sit here doing nothing?_

"Stop." I hear myself say weakly. "Stop." That one word bounces inside my mind but does not reach Peeta's mother. She hears nothing but her own poisoned words, like a snake. And you can only kill a snake if you fight back.

I'm about to charge when I feel something block my way. I automatically look down, trying to find what is obstructing me and I'm surprised to see that it's Peeta himself.

"Peeta, I- " My voice comes out as a whimper, even pleading.

"Katniss, I think you should go now." He doesn't look me in the eye.

"But I can't just watch her do this." I hiss. I push myself forward with all my might but he manages to contain me.

I look past him and see her digging her nails on the hands of the girl, plunging her down to the puddle on the floor. She harshly pulls her up only to throw her back down. I give a scream inside.

"It'll only get worse if you butt in! Don't recklessly charge in. Just don't. It will only provoke her and she might very well call the peacekeepers. Who do you think they'll listen to?" He pleads with me but I keep on pushing forward. His hands tighten around me. He won't relent and I can see it in his very stance.

Anger boils through me. "So you're gonna turn me into an audience? Should I just sponsor them now and send a parachute to help them? " The sound of the witch's voice and the cries of pain of the little girl fade into the background.

"This isn't the games Katniss." He says in a steady voice.

"But you're making me feel like it is one! Just watching, feeling helpless!" I shout hysterically, gripping his shirt.

"Katniss," He says.

I open my mouth to shout another barrage of vicious words and it's then that he does look at me. Anger, shame and determination are evident in his eyes making me stop in my tracks. He tilts his head beside my ears and whispers, "I'll handle this. Trust me."

The intensity in his voice calms my anger a little and renders me speechless. I only nod because I do trust him. If it's Peeta, he can calm his mother. I trust him.

I turn around and grab the cheese buns before heading outside. I don't even bother to get my jacket. I hide inside the alleyway beside the bakery and wait for the voices to quiet down.

A resounding crack hangs in the air followed by metal hitting the bricked floor. Then, there's silence.

I glide towards the mouth of the alley and check if the coast is clear. The girl is on fours under the same oak tree that I had rested in. Her brother hugs her at the same time tries to make her stand on her feet. Scrapes and bruises are evident on her body but none on her brother. They paint a pitiful scene. For a brief moment, I wonder if that was how pitiful I looked then.

Feeling the warm bread in my hands, I slowly make my way to her.

_First, I'll hand this to her. And if she trusts me enough, maybe I can take her home and have my mother heal her. _

I'm only a few meters away when I see Peeta come out of the building carrying an umbrella, rush to the girl. As he walks, I notice the side of his shirt burnt._Why? _He pays no attention to the burns though.

He comes to squat in front of the two and tilts the umbrella so he can shelter the both of them from the rain, allowing him to get wet in the process. I see him open his mouth to speak to the girl but I'm too far away to hear. I assume they are the right words because she looks up to him and her brother actually smiles. He hands her a basket filled with bread and offers the umbrella to her brother. The siblings look into each other before they tackle him into a hug and Peeta has to steady himself. Letting go, the boy looks Peeta up in the eye before both of them start running towards the directions of the Seam; opposite to where I am.

Peeta stands up and watches them go, unmindful of the rain that now soaks us both. And even when his back is turn to me, I know that he's smiling. With that, he walks back to the bakery without looking back.

I'm standing there in awe. I feel so proud and utterly happy. I can't help to think he has saved yet another girl; another family.

I hug the paper bag filled with buns close to my chest and feel a comforting warmth spread to my body.

_You're a baker._

**A/N:**

***This has been revised (4/18/2011) ***

**That came out longer than I expected :)) It's summer vacation and strangely enough, I was too busy to write. Lately, I've been drawing a lot and reading a lot so blame my "artistic" and literary cravings. AND I ACTUALLY WAS ABLE TO FORCE MY TEACHER TO READ THE HUNGER GAMES AND THEN I SAW HIS FB PROFILE PICTURE WAS THE MOCKINGJAY PIN AND I'M LIKE FANGIRLING LIKE YEAH!**

***ahem ahem* Please review :3**


	3. Sugarless Tea

**A/N: Before you start reading this chapter, please note that the second chapter of Five Instances has been revised. Please take time to read and tell me what you think. **

**Moving on…**

_"Siblings: children of the same parents, each of whom is perfectly normal until they get together."__ – Sam Levenson_

* * *

_One foot in front of the other. Two blocks, I've been walking for two blocks, one more to go. One step, another and another…_

I wouldn't be surprised if people who are watching me right now will think I'm up to something. Staring at your feet and swinging your hands mechanically while you walk will always arouse curiosity or even suspicion. My body doesn't seem to register this because it keeps up its robotic antics.

Strangely, you'll notice equally many things from staring at the ground as to looking at your sides. Many times I saw ants, beetles, a few weeds, cracks in the pavement, etc. etc. A sparkly little object on the sidewalk has caught my eye.

_A pebble. It's a blue pebble. Odd color for a pebble. It's the same color as the sky today. Clear and undisturbed by the clouds_… _It's pretty._ I think if only to distract myself. It's only when I realize that I'm being silly that I take a step forward. Looking back at the pebble one last time, I snatch it up and place it safely inside my pocket. The pebble rattles against my thigh as I walk.

_This is completely idiotic of me. I'm being too nervous about this. It's only a… house visit._

A dented lamp post serves as my landmark, signaling me that my destination is near. Only a dozen more steps to go. I clear my mind of any thoughts until I finally reach the veranda of a certain house. I climb the three-step stairs and stop at the top.

_I'm here._

_I'm really here._

_Ugh._

Wooden planks cover the floor, seemingly untouched by termites. The walls are colored the same as the pebble I found. Out of the three of us victors, he is the only one who redesigned his new home.

_Here I am with the "observing" again. It's becoming a habit… a "nervous" habit._

And suddenly I'm furious with myself. I, Katniss Everdeen, Victor of the 74th Hunger Games, who conquered the arena, the mutts, vicious tributes, am afraid of coming into a boy's home. Not that I'm afraid that he's going to do something to me. More like, I'm afraid of embarrassing myself because I don't know how things are supposed to work when visiting guy friends for no valid reason. I've been to Gale's before but my friendship with him is less complicated. On the other hand, my relationship with _him _is more like a whirlwind of confusion.

Before I give myself a headache for sorting out whatever I feel, I knock on the door twice, take a step backward and force myself not to count how many seconds has passed. The door finally opens and Peeta appears on the doorway.

"Katniss." He says, trying to hide the surprise in his voice but his whole expression betrays him.

"Peeta", I say for lack of anything else to say.

"Do you need something? Some bread maybe?" He asks while eyeing my clothes. Probably trying to guess what could have motivated me to come here. One's clothes can usually speak volumes. I being an exception to the rule for I always wear a shirt and a pair of pants in any occasion that is not Capitol related.

"Not really. I just wanted to um, visit you." I say the last couple of words in a whisper. That's when I notice that he is dressed for work. "Oh, you're going." I mentally punch myself as I hear the disappointment and a bit of relief in my voice.

"No, it's alright." He says panicked, startling me. He softens his voice as he takes note of my flinch. "They'll manage without me. Weekdays are usually slow. And I'm already late as it is. Would you like to come in?" He opens the door ajar, stretching his left arm as a welcoming gesture. With an imperceptible nod of my head, I step in.

Peeta takes the lead which is to be expected in his own home. I follow him and glancing around for every now and then. The numerous paintings on the walls still amaze me even when I have already seen them before. When I look at them, there's a feeling of looking through glass; as if my hand will slip through I touch one of them and find myself in a different place. Luckily, they're not about the games so I relax in their presence.

We reach the kitchen and there's a sense of familiarity. There's the stool, the counter and the door leading to the room I have dubbed as the painting room. Peeta nods into the direction of the table and I take a sit. He pulls up the chair opposite to me and sits down. For a while, he sits there content at simply looking at me while I squirm in discomfort. I need to say something.

My hands move from the table, crossed against my chest and finally onto my lap. My fingers graze the pebble inside my pocket and my mouth involuntary moves, "I found a pebble. It's pretty." Surprised at my randomness, I cover my mouth.

He blinks twice. "It must have been a special pebble then." He says without any malice.

"What makes you say that?" I ask, removing my hand from my mouth.

"You wouldn't have picked it up otherwise. May I see it?"

Obediently, I take the pebble out and drop it into his waiting hand. He brings it closer to him and examines it at shoulder level.

"Interesting color. It looks like it could have been a piece of the sky. Maybe it even fell." He muses.

"You say it like it's a shooting star." I say, continuing the conversation.

"You never know, it could have been. Meteors reduce in size because it burns out as it falls." He says whimsically.

"You know a lot about the sky then." I drag on.

"Only because I listen in class. You know, they say the older civilization was destroyed by a massive meteor."

"I never liked History class."

"But this is science. Though I never did well in history. Always distracted."

"Didn't we have history class together?" I ask, remembering a time where the teacher called Peeta and he didn't seem to hear the question.

Peeta shrugs. "Don't remember." There's a hint of embarrassment in his voice but I can't be sure. It could be nothing. He resumes to studying the pebble.

"It really is a remarkable color for a piece of rock." He says avoiding the topic.

Looking at him fixated on the pebble, I notice a striking similarity with him and it.

"Your eyes have the same color." I note.

"Huh?"

"Same color as the pebble." I'm amazed that I only noticed now.

He tilts his head and ghost of a smile appears on his face. "Are you saying I have beautiful eyes?"

It takes a moment for his words to register in my mind and when it does, my mouth hangs open.

"I, well…. I never said…" My throat has gone dry.

He laughs at me and I shoot him a glare. With that, he struggles to compose himself.

"Would you like some tea to ease your throat?" He says after a series of small laughs poorly disguised as coughs.

"Yes, please." I answer in a steely voice. I don't like it when people laugh at me.

He stands up and proceeds to a drawer filled with tea bags and get two. He reaches up to take teacups from a cabinet. Finally, he grabs for a thermos and brings everything over to the counter. Pouring hot water into the cups, I notice the cups are fine china wares etched with blue dragons. He places a teabag in both cups and heads to the table. He holds the cup out to me, his pinky not quite up but also not quite curled.

"This is Oolong. Careful, it's hot." He warns me gently.

Cautiously, I take the cup and instantly feel the heat on the tips of my fingers. He takes a small pot from the counter and returns to his seat.

"So, Katniss, not that I don't like you visiting or anything but I never really saw you as someone who likes small talk."

"Actually, I'm surprised myself. I didn't feel like hunting today so that meant I had free time. But Prim went to school. My mom's busy with her apothecary. And…" I bite my tongue before I mention Gale working at the mines. Peeta raises an eyebrow but says no more. "… I thought maybe you would be here."

He nods once and passes me the pot from the counter and I look at him, my eyes asking for me what it is.

"Sugar", he says.

With the same caution I took with the cup, I take hold of it. The designs of the bottom are no doubt painted by Peeta. The design is what I think to be sugar canes. I wonder how he knew about sugar canes since there are no sugar canes inside the District. It's probably involved in the bakery business.

"Sugar is white powdery substance that you put in food or in this case tea to make it sweeter. You should try it." I hear him say in a smug yet obviously joking way. I look up and find him beaming at me. One hand is under his chin while the other is raising a cup in the air. It's the "arrogant" pose.

Rolling my eyes, I tell him, "I know what sugar is, Peeta, even if my father isn't a baker." He gives me a knowing look but says nothing more. I smile a little and congratulate myself.

I take two cubes of sugar and dunk it in my cup. I pass it to him but he only sets it down in the middle of the table.

"Don't you want any? The tea is a little bit bitter." I say as I stir the cubes in.

He shakes his head and to emphasize his point, he says no.

"I thought you would have a sweet tooth with you being a baker of pastries and all." I mumble a little disbelieving and take a sip.

"It's not a matter of sweetness, per se. I just want to take things as they are meant to be. Tea isn't sweet. Sugarcoating it makes me feel deceitful." He says and pauses.

"It's better to face the truth than…" He adds with a forced smile.

"Cover it up with lies." I finish.

Silence hangs in the air only to be interrupted with a voice neither mine nor Peeta's.

"That's some deep life hullabaloo right there." Says a muscular man leaning against the door that's as tall as him. He's strangely familiar but I can't seem to remember. He walks to our table, his dirty shaggy blonde hair bouncing along with his stride.

"Why, hello there little Miss Victor. You look lovely today." He greets me cockily.

"Uh, yeah..." I still can't point my finger as to where I know him from.

Without my consent and much to my surprise, he grabs my hands and swoops down to kiss it. I'm about to yank my hand free when he gives out a yelp before his lips even brushes my hand. He angrily glares at Peeta. Peeta simply sips his tea as if nothing happened.

"Anyway, the name's Gil. But I bet you already know that. All the girls here know that." He introduces himself with a wink and I feel my body shiver in disgust. I do notice one thing though. He has Peeta's eyes only darker and that's what jogs my memory. He's Peeta's brother- the second eldest.

"Actually his name is Beygil." Peeta says nonchalantly in between sips of his tea.

Gil immediately gives Peeta a smack on the head making Peeta spill some of his tea. He mutters something about brothers being stupid.

"I told you not to call me that. The ladies don't dig that." Gil grunts, uncaring about the mess he made.

"I'm pretty sure the ladies don't 'dig' your other aspects too." Peeta angrily retorts. Peeta takes a dishcloth and wipes the spill from his clothes.

"Says the guy who only managed to talk to the girl of his dream ten years later." Gil says in a teasing tone, looming over his younger brother.

Peeta straightens his posture and there is only a two inch difference in their height. Gill being the taller of the two.

"I'll take that any day as opposed to a guy ogling over a girl he'd met ten seconds ago." Peeta hisses.

"That just shows how much of a lady-killer I am." Gil tugs the invisible collars on his shirt.

"Are you referring to the way you manage to kill every girl's mood. Then I can agree with you." Peeta spats back.

_I've never seen brothers fight... They are kinda fun to watch. _I think, cruel as it is.

Gil was about to banter another off handed retort when I lean forward, accidentally spilling tea in the process.

"Ouch, hot, hot hot!" I yelp and stand up in astonishment. I immediately suck on the base of my index finger which was burnt the most.

The two brothers look at me instantly. Peeta seems to remember that I was there and his expression immediately changes from competitive to ashamed and concerned. He takes a block of ice from the fridge and presses it gently to my fingers. Gil just stands there looking awkward.

"I'm sorry, Katniss. You see, I have a barbarian for a brother." He tells me and I actually chuckle a bit. Gil makes a sound of protest. I hold the ice in place and Peeta lets go.

"Is it bad?" He asks me anxiously, looking straight at my eyes.

"Nothing I won't live through." I squeak. He's giving me such an intense gaze, like the ones from the arena. I struggle to maintain contact.

I hear Gil blabber on about lovebirds and Peeta immediately snaps back at him, breaking the eye contact. I'm a little relieved as I feel myself flush.

"Gil, what do you want?" Peeta says, tolerating.

"I actually came here to check on you. Dad thought you might actually be sick since you didn't come to the bakery."He says momentarily serious but joking as he says the next set of words, "Now I know why. Wouldn't want to skip the most exciting date of your life." Gil pinches Peeta's cheeks to which Peeta slaps them away.

"Please. You wouldn't go to all this trouble because you suddenly became obedient to dad. Knowing you, you want to ask for money to impress whoever you found pretty." He says, every bit of patience exhausted.

Gils seems to take no offense. "I resent that. She's not just pretty. She's a goddess."

"That's very interesting." Peeta says blatantly uncaring.

"So little brother, I know you can spare a few greens." Gil says as he rubs his thumb and index finger together. He means money. Which is weird since the money we have isn't green. It's gold but the expression itself came from centuries ago. "Why don't you give some to your good brother Gil."

"Are we talking about the same good brother who is embarrassing me in front of a guest?"

Gil gives out a howl. "Really? She's a guest now? Not the girl who you talked about every time you got home? Not your dream girl? Not the "one" That's rich!"

Gil's comments are starting to make me uncomfortable. Peeta simply sighs albeit a bit red.

"If I give you some money, you will go." Not a question. A demand.

Gil pretends to think, "Well, if you put it that way…"

"I'll be right back Katniss. Freely punch him when he becomes overbearing." Peeta says and I reluctantly nod. He goes down the hall and disappears.

Gil slides over. He's good looking to a point, I guess. But there's something revolting in the way he carries himself. I back up only to find Gil in front of me.

"So Katniss, how's the easy life treating you? I bet a lot of guys are flocking around you right now. If ever my brother gets boring, just call me and I'll show you a goo-" Peeta pushes Gil off me and points at the back door.

"Now, off you go." Peeta orders.

"I-" Gil begins but Peeta cuts in.

"Zip. You promised you'd go. Not one more word. Go." Gil seems unfazed by Peeta's audacity. Gil walks to the door, turns back one last time and winks at me. "Later" he salutes and heads off.

Peeta lets out a big sigh, his shoulder slumping as he does. He takes the seat beside me this time.

"Sorry, you had to see that." As he bangs his head a bit hard on the table.

"It seems you're the older one; maturity wise." I comment, hoping that it doesn't rub him the wrong way.

He speaks but it comes out as incoherent as the table muffles the sound. I gingerly touch his neck and he turns his head in my direction.

"You act different with your brother around." I say. It's definitely different from the Peeta I know. "Rather, you act differently towards him. It just shows how close the two of you are."

"I wouldn't see it as good though. No one else will help if I let him bully me. Plus, it keeps him in check."

"Prim and I are never like that. I'm kind of…." I say, looking for the right word. "jealous."

Peeta smiles at my honesty. His smile is infectious as I find myself smiling back. " I wouldn't consider myself lucky having a brother like that. But he's still my brother. There's not much I can do about that. If he weren't my own blood, I would have kicked him out of this house."

"But you did. Very powerfully too. You're gonna make a good father someday." I say.

"Details, details." He dismisses it but he's a shade of red darker than normal. "Almost forgot, here's your pebble." He places it onto the table and with one finger pushes it to me.

With his hair falling of his face, one of his cheeks pressed against the table, both cheeks slightly red, blue eyes sparkling as the pebble is reflected in his eyes, a smile still playing on his lips, and the way he's acting right now… he's actually, well… dare I say it… _childishly cute._

I take the pebble and tell myself to keep it somewhere safe as a souvenir.

_You never take sugar in your tea._

* * *

**A/N:**

_Another Quote: "Your __sibling, after all, is the only other person in the world who understands how fucked up your parents made you."__  
__—__Deb Caletti_

**This came before the "You like to sleep with the windows open" because... well, I finished this first XD Better this than nothing. **

**I wanted a light chapter so there~ (Light mood-wise) I've always been curious about Peeta's family and we never got to know more about them. I think they would have been fairly interesting. And I've always adored brothers bickering. I find it cute. Call me a sadist or whatever but it is still cute. Your argument is invalid :))**

**I didn't want the story to revolve around the sugar in tea part because that would be a bit boring and the story would have been too short. And then came Gil. I like Gil. But I do feel a little foolish about his name. Part of me likes it and part of me thinks I'm desperate for a name. Teehee~ Desperate it is then XD**

**Please review! I always appreciate your comments. They also inspire me to write more. So, thank you to all those who reviewed.**


	4. Windows Open

_"I don't care how hard being together is, nothing is worse than being apart." –Josephine Angelini (Starcrossed)_

"_We're having fish for dinner." I say though there is no one around to hear me._

_The lake is swarming with fish. Different colors play before my eyes. Red, yellow, black, orange gliding on the surface of the water._

_I take a minute to appreciate it but art has never been my thing so I jump up and set the traps that will land us dinner._

_While I tinker with the ropes, one particular fish catches my eye. A fish that's black like coffee but peppered with violet spots. The fish, seemingly aware of my stare, rushes towards me. Seeing its blood shot eyes send alarms ringing in my head; alarms that I'm stupid enough to ignore. Without thinking, I move my hand above it, my fingers brushing the water._

_Instantly, the fish takes a bite of my fingers, and then my whole hand. Searing pain shoots through my arm. I try to shake it, wailing as I do. But it's useless. Its fangs are in too deep. The pain seeps in like poison._

_With a strength that it can't possibly have, it drags me into the water. The water mutes my screams of terror and invades my lungs. It drags me deeper, faces of dead tributes flashing around me. They pull on my hair, my arms, my legs, any part of me. I try to bat them aside but they ripple on contact. Thrashing about only makes their grip on me tighter._

_As I land on the lake floor, my attackers disperse like smoke. This lake must be supplied with its own gravity seeing as I can't swim up. Not that I would know which way is up. Everything is pitch black. If it weren't for the now luminescent eyes of the fish, I wouldn't have known it was still there._

_It no longer takes hold of me, it's observing with eyes that look human. There's a dull throbbing in my hands. It should be more painful but the lack of air outweighs it._

_I'm going to die because of a stupid fish_

_But it's not a fish anymore. The dark shadow morphs itself into a person. An ageless man with pale skin and bleeding mouth stands before me. Murderous glowing eyes train on me._

"_Miss Everdeen, you've run out of time."_

_In the deepest part of the lake, President Snow wraps his fingers around my neck._

_I can't breathe._

_I can't…_

I sit up from my bed, gasping. My hands fly to my chest, feeling the rise and fall of it.

_A dream, it was a dream._

Out of habit, I take a quick survey of my surroundings. The room is darker than usual, signaling the crack of midnight. Aided by the tiny light the moon and the stars provide, I can make out the rough outlines of a dresser beside the door, a table set across the room, a glass door leading to a polished bathroom and pieces of clothes scattered on the floor. Everything is familiar but it isn't home.

The steady rumble of the train reminds me where I am. I'm heading to District 7 as part of the Victory Tour. I look out my window, searching for any indication that we have reached civilization but find none. It's all blurry trees and fast moving shadows.

The shadows remind me of the dream, bringing a chill to my spine. As the seconds past, the dream skirts away from my memory but the feeling it brought weighs heavily on my chest- cold dread and fear.

_Don't try to remember. Just calm down. Calm down. Take deep and slow breaths._

Sure enough, my breathing eventually slows down and I am suddenly aware of my clothes soaked in sweat. Even my blankets are wet. Maybe I really was dipped in the lake.

To make matters worse, I'm still shaking. The hairs on my arms are still standing. Apparently, my body still not convinced I'm safe. I laugh bitterly at my naivety. When have I really been safe? Certainly not while the Capitol is watching.

I knew I couldn't avoid this though I've decided I wouldn't do it anymore; at least for one night. How weak my resolve crumbles in the face of nightmares.

Tiredly, I step down from my bed, not bothering to turn the lights on. Put on a random shirt on the floor, positive that it wasn't dirty when I threw it down earlier. I wrap my blanket around me like a cloak and make my way to Peeta's cabin.

I don't bother knocking, just turn the knob and push open the door somehow knowing he's waiting for me. Unsurprisingly, he's awake, sitting at the edge of his bed, leaning on the ledge of the open window. His hair whips wildly across his forehead but he looks head on.

I don't say a word but I see from the way he immediately straightened his posture when I entered, that he knew I came in. With one last intake of night air he turns to me. He gives me a once over, one that isn't critical but curious and concerned. When his blue eyes meet my grey ones, there's a silent apology that passed. There is nothing he has to apologize for. He hasn't done anything to cross me. Rather, it's an "I'm sorry this happened to you."

Still, no words are exchanged out loud. He only pats the space next to him in his bed and moves over, making more space for me. He lies down with one had stretched on the mattress and the other waiting on the air; waiting for me to come into them. And I do, with restrained respite. His arms wrap around me, strong and sturdy. His grip is certain, tight but still gentle. He knows I feel comfortable in it; without even asking me if I do.

It's a simple gesture but it speaks a thousand comforts and promises of better things. It's a gesture that usually abates all my fears but not tonight. I dip my head lower, just above his collarbone and grip his shirt tightly, feeling as small as I've never felt before. He puts his chin on top of my head, in response. This is the second time in a while that I am surprised of his strong presence. It feels like he's everywhere. And I don't mind.

_There shouldn't be anymore nightmares._

He strokes my hair, soothing the little jitters out of my system. I pick up a small vibration, a hum but it disappears as fast as it came. I look up questioningly from the cave he has built around me and he flashes me an embarrassed smile. And that's when he says his first words this evening.

"I was going to sing you to sleep. Then I remembered you're better than me with the singing thing. Might as well not humiliate myself."

It surprises me that he could feel insecure about it. What surprises me more is that it is true; I've never heard him sing.

"I wouldn't mind if you sang." I tell him.

"Nah, best not risk it." He says brushing it off.

"But I want to." I say a little forcefully.

I look at him pleadingly, or I wish it looked that way. Surprise colors his face. There's this look in his eyes, a look that tells me he I've won and he's giving in. I'm already celebrating my victory and preparing myself to listen when he says, "Fine, I'll sing on your birthday."

I consider pouting but that never suited me. So I make do with my trademark glares. He matched my glare with taunting eyes that say 'Really? You're stooping that low?' With an irritated sigh I drop it. He laughs softly.

I consider hitting him with a pillow when he kisses the top of my forehead.

Caught off guard, I end up staring at him bewildered. He looks at me disbelievingly, "So you can take kisses on the lips but not a friendly one on your forehead?"

I grunt irritatedly.

"Those were different. They weren't real." I say, regretting it the moment it's out of my mouth.

Different because they were pretend, because they didn't mean anything… to me but not to him.

"Of course they were."He whispers with a trace of hurt.

He shifts his body so that he lies on his back. One arm still under me, acting like a pillow. This is how he shows his distance. He shows his distance without withdrawing his tendency and urge to help me through the night. I know I've hurt him but there's nothing I could say to make it better. Silence and tension replaces the playful and easy atmosphere earlier.

I'm an idiot.

"You better go to sleep."He finally says. "Big day ahead of us. Lots of people want to see you and it would be nice if you were actually awake when you do meet them."

We lie like that for minutes. There's an unseen but dutifully acknowledged barrier between this. I can imagine myself skimming it, searching for an opening. The silence drags on, deeper in the night. I sense no chance for reprieve. Maybe there won't be one tonight. For awhile I stare at the moonlight streaming from the window. Or at the trees that we pass by. A firefly miraculously got in the cabin but Peeta says nothing even as if it flew out. Finally, I'm tired of the silence.

I open my mouth, hoping words will come out, no matter how poorly thought they are. But he's there already, breaking the walls. Without saying a word, he pulls my hands across his chest and doesn't let go. That's when I know, he's trying to understand, he won't hold anything against me just like he promised be during that train stop not so long ago. Unlike me, he easily forgives.

"Did you see something earlier?" I ask, hoping to distract him. "It's dangerous to open the windows while the train is running. Effie would be furious you if she saw."

"The stars outside are shining extra brightly tonight." He says enthusiastically. "There are less lights out in the district making the stars shine brighter. I think I might have even seen the Milky Way. Then there were the comets. The natural fireworks of the universe."

I nod only half-interested.

"I was a bit of an insomniac as a child. Even when I drank milk I couldn't sleep much because it only made me want cookies. My father couldn't refuse me when I asked for them even though we could barely afford the extra cookies. So, instead of milk, he'd tell me stories." He tells me and you could hear the nostalgia, longing in his voice.

"What kind of stories?" I ask, genuinely curious.

"He told me all kinds of stories, from the handsome young baker who won the princess' heart; to the pair of elves who took cookies from the jar. Of course they weren't all about pastries." He laughs. Sometimes, he'd tell me stories about stars. Those were the ones I loved the most. You see, like this cabin, my bed was beside the window. You'd think it was dangerous because I was a kid. But it was more dangerous for my brother. My brother had a bad habit of sleepwalking and one time he almost fell out the window." He says, seemingly forgetting me, lost in sweet reverie.

"But anyway, whenever I'd look out the window, I saw the stars as the characters from the stories. So, after a while, my father didn't need to put me to sleep. I'd just look up at the stars and remember the stories. Before you know it, I was fast asleep." His voice coming to a breathy stop.

"What were the stars doing earlier then?" I half-yawn, half-ask.

"This one's my favorite out of all the stories. It's about Altair and Vega, the star-crossed lovers."

He looks at me briefly with a smile plastered across his face. I give him a small smile of my own.

"Once upon a time there was Vega, the daughter of the Universe King and a gifted weaver. Beautiful and hardworking, she was the most prized bride to be taken. She probably had a lot of suitors, but she decided she didn't have time for them. She spent all her time weaving by the banks of the Milky Way. Eventually, she realized how lonely it was. Grow old with nothing but her weaving to keep her company. Her father noticed her grief and arranged for her to meet Altair, a humble cow herder. The two met and were instantly in love and later married."

"Like a fairy tale." I barely manage and then another yawn. His heartbeat, constantly faster than my own, sets a rhythm that has come to be my personal lullaby. Even his voice is soft and hypnotic. I have to concentrate to understand his words.

"It would be if the story stopped there. The two were so engrossed with each other that they forgot their duties. Vega no longer weaved and Altair's cows run amuck. The king was furious at this and ordered them apart; Altair on one side of the Milky Way and Vega on the other. Vega was heartbroken and pleaded with her father to allow her to meet with Altair. Taking pity on Vega, the King allowed her to meet with Altair on one day if she finished her weaving, on the 7th day of the 7th month. With renewed hope, Vega worked day and night on her weaving. When the promised day came, Vega and Altair stood on opposite banks, giddy with the thought of reuniting. But they realized too late that there was no bridge to cross the Milky Way with. Vega cried her heart out, so much so that the magpies heard-"

"What are magpies?" I ask in a slurred voice.

"A type of bird. They're extinct now." He tells me patiently.

"Oh. So, magpies?" My eyelids close then, too heavy to raise.

"The magpies then agreed to form a bridge in order that the two lovers meet. At last, the two were together again, if only for a day. And so the cycle continued each year broken only by rain for if it rained, the magpies could not come. The end."

"A day a year. That's unbelievably short." I muse and then another yawn.

"It's better than nothing."

"Mhhm,"

"You should sleep now. While you can." He says, his fingers brushing my hand back and forth.

"Hey, Peeta?" I struggle to say with consciousness escaping from me.

"Yes?"

In a dream-like voice, I say, "I'm glad I get to see you everyday."

Maybe it was because of the exhaustion that came over me that had made me say them but, at the time, I felt like he had to know. I didn't feel guilty when I told him; only relief and gratitude.

He answered me back but it was hazy, though his voice sounded blissful and that was enough for me. Sleep came to me then. I wouldn't want to think what would have happened if I hadn't. Maybe I would have taken it back or I would have left because of embarrassment. The last thing I remembered before the darkness claimed me was the gentle caress of the night breeze from the open window.

_You like to sleep with the windows open._

**A/N:**

**So, I know some of you said update soon and even I could admit that one month is not close the definition of soon. So, I'm really sorry. I know it would be lame for me to say that I had writer's block for a whole month but I really did. And it's summer! So my neurons weren't working right . Anyway, I hope you liked this chapter**

**On an interesting note: I got my hunger games shirts! They aren't from hot topic but they're cool so yeah!**

**Disclaimer: The story used is not mine. It is actually a popular story in Japan that inspired the "Tanabata" festival.**

**Review please**


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